


A Chance Meeting

by Chantelle



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/F, M/M, also used historia rather than christa just because, also wall names, and muscles, i honestly don't know anymore, mention of others
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 07:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3888391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chantelle/pseuds/Chantelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armin moves to a new town to satisfy his sense of adventure. Little did he know that the local bakery in his new home has a handsome baker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Chance Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> And so I finally finish! This fic gave me so much stress, ng. I was worried for a while because I didn't think I'd finish on time, but here I am! For real though, this is the longest fic I've ever remembered writing, not including the disastrous multi-chapter thing I wrote back when I was 11.
> 
> Thanks to [aikachii413](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aikachii413/) for being my unofficial beta! You have no idea how much your comments helped me write this stupid thing.
> 
> Art by aarangcz on [Tumblr](http://aarangcz.tumblr.com/post/120351550981/).
> 
> Anyhow. Mmm this may still be edited from time to time as I spot mistakes I missed the first time around. Nothing completely new will be added nor will anything be deleted in any scenario. This will also be cross-posted to my writing Tumblr, and maybe my FFN account haha
> 
> Pardon any mistakes, bad characterization, awkward dialogues, etc etc. I tried haha. That is all

His first day in his new apartment is busy; he has to inspect the place, bring all his boxes and extra furniture up, start unpacking, make sure his cat Maria doesn’t make a mess, and make dinner for Eren and Mikasa as thanks for helping him out. They wave off his thanks, telling him to call if he ever needs more help and again once he’s fully settled before they leave. He blushes when they both hug him at the door, embarrassed as there are neighbors still out in the hall, but he hugs back nonetheless because, having grown up with them by his side for almost all his life, he really will miss them.

His second day is much the same, but without the presence of his two best friends. He has no time to really miss them, beyond the occasional thoughts of “Mikasa would be able to carry this higher and much easier than I can” or “Eren could probably put this up the cupboard without a chair or climbing the counter”. He is too busy putting his stuff away, too busy organizing all the knickknacks that will make the place feel more like home. He falls asleep to exhaustion, Maria curled up by his head.

On his third day, some of his neighbors send him dishes to welcome him. Petra Ral from two doors down gives him enough food to last him two more days. Her boyfriend Auruo from one of the next door units looks a bit more hesitant (or maybe it was just his face?), but he hands over a bottle of wine nonetheless with a grumbled but sincere “Welcome to the neighborhood”. Erwin Smith, the landlord, gives him cans of wet cat food, for which he would forever be grateful.

He calls up Mikasa in the evening (he knows Eren would be too busy with his games to even notice his phone was ringing), and for a while they talk about his plans and how his unpacking has gone. He tells her about the neighbors he has met so far, and how Maria would knock over a few of the things he had set out, though thankfully none of them were breakable. They talk for longer than he expected, but it is only when Mikasa is about to hang up that he hears Eren squawk offendedly at the other end, having just noticed that he had called. He ends up falling asleep while whispering to Maria about how his neighbors seem to be nice, and how excited he is to actually start his new life in this new town.

He goes to work on his fourth day, a Monday. He feels a little anxious; he’d had a similar job previously, but it was for a smaller company. He had been an editor, but in the non-fiction department, not _fiction_. He doesn’t think he’ll do a bad job, but he’s a little nervous anyway. He heads out extra early, after leaving food out for Maria. Besides it being his habit in the first place, he wants to explore his chosen route while still having enough time to get to work without being late.

He passes Petra on his way out, who in turn suggests he drop by the local bakery. “Their breads are pretty good,” she says. “And their pastries are heavenly! _And_ the baker’s son is just about your age, so you can probably ask him to show you around town.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he replies with a small smile. “Thank you, Ms. Ral.”

She sends him off with a light “Just call me Petra,” to which he gives a noncommittal hum and a wave goodbye.

To be fair, he _did_ plan on stopping by the bakery. It had been part of his original itinerary, and he had figured that he would buy bread for his breakfast and enjoy it the rest of the way. And if the food is as good as Petra claims, then he could have something new every day until he can say he’s tried them all.

* * *

He knows he is close to the bakery once he smells the aroma of freshly-baked bread. It sends him back to his childhood, when his parents would occasionally bake bread in the mornings, and his mother would make cake or cookies in the afternoons. That was before his parents had disappeared, and way before his grandfather died of old age. He gives a small, sad smile at the thought; he had come a long way, and though he knows how to take care of himself now, there are still times when he wishes that his parents and grandfather were still with him.

He sees the bakery almost immediately, and his steps slow down; his eyes are drawn to the board in front, advertising the day’s special. He absently takes note of the grocer beside the shop; he’ll likely need to visit once the food from his neighbors start running out. When he finally arrives in front of the bakery, he takes a moment to admire it.  The window to the right of the door had “Kirstein Bread & Cake Shop” painted in a soft yellow, obviously the name of the owners. The awning, striped in blue, gray, and white, flutters slightly in the breeze. A look inside tells him that they don’t have all their products out yet, though the sign on the door is flipped to “Open”. A few shelves inside are still empty, while others are stocked with trays of freshly baked bread and pastries. There also seems to be a clear jar by the register, probably to hold cookies in later. But even while not everything is on display yet, he can tell that they would all be _amazing_. There are already croissants and tarts displayed by the windows, as well as a fully-frosted cake and some pies and quiches. He nods with an impressed smile, already decided as to what he will buy. To be frank, the spinach chicken quiche looks astounding, and he certainly would not mind having just that, judging by its size.

With that, he moves to open the door. Just as he does, however, someone emerges from the back of the shop. It is a young man, probably the baker’s son that Petra had mentioned, carrying two trays of what look to be cinnamon buns. Though they look delicious, still steaming slightly with the brown sugar on top melting a little, they are not what make him stop. No, it is the baker’s son himself, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and face slightly gleaming with sweat from working in the kitchen. The trays he is carrying don’t seem to be too heavy, but his forearms look toned, probably from some of the heavy lifting he has to do. The top two buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned, likely from the heat of the stoves as well, and he has at least one ear piercing. His hair is styled into a two-toned undercut, with the lower part a dark brown and the top a dark blonde. And those _cheekbones_ , God, those cheekbones.

Then this Adonis turns and squats to place the trays down on one of the bottoms shelves, prompting a small whimper from the poor blonde. That shirt may cover a lot of skin, but the way those back muscles _flex_ , highlighting his splendidly sculpted trapezius and teres major and latissimus dorsi— He attempts to look away and stop ogling a stranger. Instead, his gaze is drawn downwards, and he has to bite back a groan. The baker’s son’s arse is _beautiful_ , and he feels like a creep, but he can’t help himself. He’d thought the man was perfect before, but now, _now_ , he is beyond amazing.

He isn’t quite aware of how long he stood there staring at the baker’s son, admiring the work of art that he is from outside the bakery. He only realizes that he _is_ just standing there staring creepily (and waxing poetic about a stranger’s muscles) when the other man notices him and waves him in. Flustered and panicked at being caught, he dashes away, face burning with mortification.

He only realizes that he forgot to buy himself breakfast when he arrives at Trost Publishing.

* * *

The morning’s incident aside, his first day at work goes pretty well. His boss, Hanji Zoe, is an enthusiastic person who introduces him loudly and rambunctiously to the rest of his coworkers.

“This is Armin Arlert, your long-awaited new fellow editor! You worked in non-fiction in your previous workplace, yes? Ah, where was it again? Oh, never mind, I’ve forgotten. It doesn’t matter anyway! Welcome to Trost Publishing’s fiction department, Armout! I’m sure you’ll do a great job!”

He’s speechless for a moment, a little surprised at the amount of energy Hanji is displaying, before giving a laugh and a small smile. “Thank you. I’m glad I can be here to work with all of you. Please take care of me,” he says with a bow. He would have commented on the Armout joke, but he is already used to it, what with friends like Connie and a childhood best friend like Eren.

He doesn’t actually do much work the rest of the day. Instead, Hanji and her assistant, a man named Moblit who seems to be constantly apologizing for Hanji’s behavior, take him on a tour around the building, showing him the various departments and highlighting the few differences between Trost Publishing and his previous workplace. He is very much relieved to see that there are departmental break rooms, where there are some snacks that everyone is free to eat and some individually marked food owned by specific people, as well as a coffee vending machine. He had hoped there would be such a room, but he hadn’t wanted to assume considering his previous publishing house didn’t have one. He quietly asks Hanji if he could take something while they are there, and Hanji just laughs and gives him a (painful) pat on the back. He doesn’t exactly receive an affirmative, but a nod from Moblit gives him the courage to grab a pack of crackers and a cup of coffee.

For lunch, he goes out with the rest of the department to the little cafe across their building. It is here that he gets to know the rest of his coworkers. There’s Historia Reiss, a petite blonde like he is, who typically works on romance. Her girlfriend, Ymir, is a tall and tanned brunette with freckles across her nose, assigned to mostly mysteries. Sasha Braus, a self-proclaimed food enthusiast, usually works on fantasy and the occasional sci-fi. And then there is Marco, a quiet man with even more freckles on his face than Ymir does who exudes very strong mother hen vibes, and who works on no particular genre the way the others do.

“Don’t forget his boyfriend,” Ymir says with a leer. “He’s not here right now, but he drops by a lot to give Marco his lunch or whatever.”

“Ymir!” Historia says in a chiding tone just as Marco starts shaking his head.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” he tells Armin in a stage whisper, sending a mock glare Ymir’s way. She returns it with a flash of her middle finger. “I’m already in a relationship. Jean’s my best friend, and he just gets kinda clingy when he’s single. He also has a lot of extra food from his work, so he just gives me some of them.”

“He’s in the food business?” Armin asks.

“Oh, yes! He works at the bakery.” Armin blushes a little at this; surely Marco wasn’t talking about the same person, right? Marco carries on speaking, not noticing Armin’s reaction to his words.

“You might have passed by it on the way to Trost. Kirstein’s Bread and Cake Shop. Jean can get a little rude,” Marco says with a roll of his eyes. “But he’s really not bad at all. And his pastries are _amazing_. If you ever buy something from there, just tell him you work with me. He’ll warm up to you faster, I guarantee it. Or maybe I’ll introduce you the next time he drops by, whichever comes first.”

Armin just gives a generic response, perhaps just a hum to show he’s still paying attention, but really his ears are drumming and his mind is far away. He pays nothing more than polite attention to the continued conversations even as the rest of the table talks away. Instead all he can think of is the bakery and the baker’s son and how he’d kind of made a fool of himself earlier that morning. Perhaps he could hope that the man (Jean?) would not remember...?

* * *

Except Jean remembers, and he spends that night remembering.

He had been having a relatively normal day, though he supposes that it had been too early then to come to that conclusion. But at that point he had been expecting nothing unusual. He had been with his mother preparing all their goods as always, and they had only been expecting their regular customers. And then that blonde man appeared, and Jean’s normal day became... well, not abnormal, but not the normal one he had imagined either.

He had noticed the newcomer right as he had come out of the kitchen, but didn’t give much notice beyond taking note of the fact that there was a potential new customer outside the store, and one who seemed pretty cute at that. It was only when he had felt the other’s gaze being trained on him and only him that he had become more alert. For a few moments it had seemed like it would stay an innocent glance, one given to someone new. But then he felt the glance moved _downwards_ , and while he normally would not mind at all, he did not quite appreciate being ogled during work hours. And so he had stood and, not willing to make a scene and lose their potential customer who may or may not be a sleaze, waved to the blonde stranger—

Who promptly blushed and ran from the shop.

Jean had only blinked after him for a few moments, too surprised to do much else. And then a snigger slipped from his mouth, and another, and another, until it became a full-blown laugh that sent his mother running out of the kitchen. That had been utter _embarrassment_ on the poor guy’s face, and it had not seemed like it was from being caught staring, but because he had been staring so blatantly and so _boldly_ in the first place.

He had waved his mother off then, still wheezing and highly amused. And now, lying on his bed, he cannot help but snicker again. The blonde man had been entertaining in the end, and for as long as he doesn’t create any trouble for the bakery, Jean won’t chase him away.

He _is_ cute anyway.

* * *

Over the next few days, Armin tries to build up the courage to walk into the bakery and buy _something_ (he still wants that quiche). But the embarrassment is still there, choking him up and making his face burn whenever he comes _near_. His trip to the grocer had been filled with apprehension, so anxious was he that the man in the next building would come in in search of some ingredient or whatever that they had unexpectedly run out of.

He knows, intellectually, that he didn’t really do anything wrong. He hadn’t hit on the man, hadn’t even come in to talk to him and therefore accidentally commit some form of social offense. And yet the thought of going inside the bakery fills him with so much dread, and not even the appeal of being able to see possibly-Jean up close can convince him to go.

Friday night brings with it a delayed welcome dinner, held and paid for by the coworkers he has already become very fond of. They bring him to a restaurant and bar establishment succinctly named Rose, whose interior looks like it had come straight from a period movie pub. They must either frequent the place or they had called for a reservation in advance, for the hostess leads the group to a table by the back as soon as they appear.

The restaurant isn’t exactly what you would call quiet, as it is a Friday night in a business area, but Armin is pretty sure their table is the loudest even while there are only few of them. He is a little amazed because none of them have even ordered drinks yet, and already Hanji is more energetic than usual. The night goes on along much the same vein, with Historia asking him how he is liking work so far, Sasha ordering as much food as her wallet will allow, and Ymir and Hanji challenging each other to various drinking games while Moblit attempts to stop them. Marco seems a little preoccupied, often bringing his phone out to text someone. Armin takes no notice, and instead immerses himself in his welcome dinner.

Many glasses of water and various alcoholic beverages later, he makes his way to the toilet, in bad need of a piss. His mind wanders as he washes his hands after, his thoughts going admittedly inevitably to Kirstein’s Bread & Cake Shop. Every day he relives his embarrassing actions, and every day he tries and fails to rectify his situation. His face burns as he remembers, and he splashes his cheeks with water to cool them down. He takes a deep breath, shakes his head to clear his thoughts, and makes his way back to their table.

Except when he gets there, there is someone new sitting with everyone else, and his world promptly drops to his feet.

He really should have expected this.

* * *

When Marco invites Jean to some welcome dinner for the new editor, he’s a little hesitant. He’s curious about the guy, but he does not want to intrude on his night. But Marco cajoles him, saying that the new guy won’t mind at all, and Jean knows that Hanji and the rest won’t mind either. And so, after making sure that his mom can handle the rest of the clean up on her own, he sets out for Rose.

The walk there doesn't take him long, and when he gets there, he immediately sees where the group is seated. Not that it was hard; it was the same table they usually got. Neither Hanji nor Moblit are with them, however, though he assumes the former is off wreaking havoc somewhere within the establishment while the latter tries to limit the damages that may occur. He doesn't see anyone new either, and as he sits beside an empty but obviously in-use chair, he looks to Marco, ready to ask.

"Armin's in the toilet," Marco says before the question even makes its way out of Jean's mouth. "He's had a bit too much fluids, I think. He doesn't seem to be drunk, so he should be back soon enough."

Ymir being Ymir, she immediately starts leering at them and making comments on how they totally _could_ be dating, since they've already got the whole married-couple-telepathy thing down pat. Jean just rolls his eyes while Marco laughs; this is a normal occurence, and though he doesn't think Ymir actually believes in the things she says, it _does_ get a little tiring to hear about it every damn time he meets with them. He doesn't even want to think about the things she might be saying about his relationship with Marco when he isn't around.

He gets so distracted by the conversation around him that he doesn't register the feeling of someone staring at him at once. When he does, however, he immediately looks behind him, only to be met with a familiar face wearing a not-so-familiar expression of what must be shock. Jean isn't particularly surprised at that; he is shocked too, after all.

What _does_ surprise him is when Marco notices his preoccupation and looks at what he's staring at, only to grin and say, "Oh hey, Armin's back! Now we can introduce you!"

It's Marco's turn to be gaped at then. Jean can't quite muster the proper words to say in this situation, except that...

Well, as cliche at it may sound, things have become quite interesting indeed.

* * *

It is with shaky steps that Armin goes to his seat, oh so appropriately right beside the last person he had expected (but _should_ have expected) to see. He had wanted to bolt as soon as it registered just who had come to join them, but he couldn't exactly run away without raising any questions. And it _is_ his welcome dinner, after all; he very well cannot just disappear on it. And so, with no other choice, he had steeled himself and went to face his challenge head on.

"Armin!" Marco says with a grin. "This is Jean, the baker friend I told you about. Jean, this is our new editor, Armin. Please don't be rude."

"It's not like I'm rude to people I've just met," came Jean's automatic grumble, met by a slightly pained smile from Marco.

"It's nice to meet you," Armin interjects, reaching out a hand that thankfully does not tremble. He barely manages to contain a flinch when slightly tanned hands clasp his in a firm but non-painful grip.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, too," Jean replies as he shakes the other man's hand. He must have held on for longer than is required, though, as Armin's face slowly flushes and he gives a pointed stare at their joined hands. Jean hastily lets go, a blush of his own erupting on his face. "Sorry."

"Oh, no, it's totally fine," Armin replies, waving his hands in front of him for emphasis.

"Oooh, looks like Marco has some competition," Ymir says with a snigger. She cuts herself off with a pained yelp in the next moment, and she sends a betrayed glance to the blonde girl beside her.

"Behave, Ymir," Historia scolds lightly, her face expressionless as she takes another sip of her drink.

"Yes, Ymir, please do behave," Marco echoes primly. Whereas Historia's expression is flat, his is disapproving. Ymir merely rolls her eyes and grumbles into her drink about people ganging up on her.

Jean ignores them in favor of assessing Armin. He doesn't understand why he didn't connect his morning stranger to Marco's new coworker. Marco had told him on the same day about Armin's arrival, after all, but he hadn't really given it much thought back then. Now that they've met, however, he finally has a chance of finding out just what the other man was thinking, stopping by every morning outside the shop only to stare and run away with his face all red.

Armin can barely keep himself from fidgeting in his chair, choosing to focus on his drink rather than the baker beside him. His mind is racing, trying and failing to find a way to get out of the situation without either suspicion or looking rude. But he couldn't bring himself to _talk_ to the guy either, far too embarrassed to even open his mouth and say something. In the end, however, the choice is taken from him.

"So hey. Armin, right? What brings you to a place like this?" Jean asks, feigning nonchalance as he turns in his seat to face the other.

"Oh, well," Armin almost answers that it's his welcome dinner, but immediately revises his thoughts. Jean is here _for_ the welcome dinner. "I had a similar job previously, and I was doing pretty well for myself, but I've always wanted to travel a bit more, you know? I'd never really left my hometown before going here, and I just... wanted to see more, I guess you could say. This place is sufficiently far enough from my hometown without being too far away for my friends not to visit, and there was an opening in the Trost, so here I am."

Jean leans his head on his hand, looking a bit impressed. Armin supresses his blush at the scrutiny. "A bit of wanderlust, huh? So where are you staying now?"

Armin takes a sip of his drink before answering; he might not have been stuttering, but he was incredibly nervous, and his throat had dried up. "I'm currently staying at Smith Residences," he replies after making sure his throat has been sufficiently hydrated.

Jean visibly brightens at that, and he sits up straighter. "Have you met Petra, then? She lives in the same building, and is one of the nicest people you'll ever meet. Having her around should help you adjust better, not to mention she makes great food," he says.

"Oh, yes!" Armin replied with a beam, relaxing a little at the mention of Petra. "We're on the same floor, actually, and she gave me food on my second day here. She was actually the one who tol-" He abruptly cuts himself off, tensing up again. "The one who told me how to cook some other things for myself easier than I planned on doing," he continues smoothly. It isn't a lie, technically; she _had_ given him a few tips on cooking. He certainly isn’t going to bring up _that_ day himself.

Jean raises a brow skeptically, but lets it pass. He knows that Armin will only draw away if pressed, and that isn't Jean's intention at all. Instead he gives an interested hum and changes the topic. "So how has work been? Having someone like Hanji as your boss must have been a shock."

That draws a laugh from Armin. "It was, actually. I'd never met someone quite so... exuberant before, let alone at work." He shakes his head, lips tilted at a small smile. "It _does_ make things more interesting, I admit. Hanji and everyone else seem like good people anyway, so I'm not complaining."

"Interesting is one way to put it," Jean says with a chuckle. He then leans a little closer to Armin and drops his voice to something a little more than a whisper. "Now how about we go for a drink at the bar? I think there are some things we need to talk about."

Armin goes rigid, eyes wide. He clenches his hands so tight that his knuckles go white, and he has to hide them on his lap. He knows there is no escaping now. He licks his lips and clears his throat, and yet his voice still cracks when he opens his mouth to say, "Okay."

Jean nods and stands, looking at the rest of the group to address them. "I'm taking him with me for a while," he says. "I want to get to know him without you loons eavesdropping."

Ymir opens her mouth to comment, but another elbow to her side interrupts her before she can. Historia gives him a peaceful smile. Sasha just waves them off, once again perusing the menu. Marco looks between Jean and Armin as if assessing the situation, before he hesitantly nods his head.

"Just be nice, Jean," he says before trying to dissuade Sasha from ordering more food.

Jean turns back at Armin. "Come on, then."

Armin shakily lifts himself from the chair, feeling as if all that he had ingested that day is trying to make its way back up. He follows Jean with feet that feel like lead a a heart that feels as if it's about to burst.

There is no turning back.

* * *

They spend the first moments in silence, nursing their respective drinks and not looking at each other. They ignore the bartender's curious glances. Then Jean takes in a harsh breath, looks to Armin, and blurts out, "So why did you never come in?"

Armin jumps in his stool at that, a little surprised at the outburst. He looks at Jean for a moment before looking back down at his drink. "I..." He bites his lip to formulate his thoughts before continuing, face slowly turning red. "I was... embarrassed, for lack of a better word. You probably noticed me the first time. I just... I just _stood_ there, being creepy and all, and suddenly you just wave me in like it's nothing..."

Jean nods. "It _was_ a little weird, at first. I could feel you staring. You wouldn’t come in, though, and at first I thought you were there to cause some trouble. But, well..." He shrugs and continues, “You _didn’t_ cause and weren’t causing any trouble, and didn’t look like you would, so I figured why not, right? Might as well invite you in. Que sera sera, and all that shit.”

Armin gives him an incredulous looks despite his pounding heart. “You waved me in because it didn’t _look_ like I would cause trouble?” he asks skeptically.

Jean looks him straight in the eyes, ignoring the blush erupting on his own face. "Well you won’t, now, will you? And now that I’ve met you I seriously doubt you would have then. And, well… When I looked at you, I-I admit I thought you were cute, so I invited you in. I didn't think you would _run away_ , of all things. It kind of amused me though," he adds with a wry grin.

Armin's blush explodes in full force, and he looks away from Jean, gripping his glass tightly. "Y-You thought I was-?!"

"I think you _are._ Cute, that is," Jean says, still grinning.

"O-Oh." Armin deflates, burying his face in his hands. "I... I think you're... attractive, too," he mumbles into his palms.

“Well then.” Jean places his hands behind him and leans back. “Now that that’s out of the way, will you be coming into the bakery now?”

Armin nods wordlessly, peeking at Jean from between his fingers. “I’ve… actually been wanting to try your quiche,” he admits a little breathlessly.

Jean’s grin seems to grow even larger (Armin wouldn’t have thought it possible, but there it is). “Excellent choice! It isn’t a best seller, and Marco would say to try something sweeter, but it’s personally my favorite.” He pauses for a moment before adding, a little tentatively, “How about you come over tomorrow? It’ll be my treat. Just… come in, and we can start over. What do you say?” He looks back at Armin expectantly.

“Oh, um…” Armin slowly brings his hands down to the hem of his shirt and fiddles with it, biting his lips in thought. It certainly won’t hurt, and if he does go he can finally put the whole incident behind him. And to finally be able to talk to Jean normally, _and_ try that damn spinach chicken quiche… Truth to be told, it really does not need that much thought.

He looks into Jean’s eyes and gives him a shy smile. “I would love too.”

Back at the table, Marco grins at the pair seated by the bar and gives himself a pat on the back. Ymir bursts out laughing, and Historia attempts to shush her even as a smile tugs at her own face. Sasha takes a drink to avoid choking before clapping gleefully.

Mission accomplished.

* * *

When Armin walks to work on Monday morning, it is with an extra spring in his steps. He isn’t in much of a hurry; as usual, it is early enough for him to enjoy the walk, and enjoy he does. He briefly wonders what he will be having for breakfast, but waves the thought away immediately.

He takes the time to appreciate the town he had moved into. Just the night before, Mikasa and Eren had called to ask him how he was doing, and he had found himself laughing and saying that he is completely fine. There is nothing for them to worry about. He takes in the cobblestone streets, the buildings with their medieval Europe-modern fusion, and he smiles and continues along his way.

He stops before a certain store, with its cream, grey, and blue awning, and decides that he will buy something for lunch as well (perhaps a quiche again?). With a decisive nod, he pushes the glass door open, a bell’s tinkle announcing his arrival. The baker’s son turns from where he is placing two trays of fresh cinnamon buns and grins at him, and he grins back, absently appreciating the flex of the other man’s arm muscles.

And if he oh-so-subtly flirts with the baker’s son (who oh-so-subtly flirts back) while choosing between quiches and croissants…

Well. Mikasa and Eren don’t need to know about that quite yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! I truly hope you enjoyed! As much of a stress as writing this was, I did have fun doing so.


End file.
